


Angel in Black Leather

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Firefighters, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Motorcycles, Mutual Pining, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a firefighter, Arthur is fully aware of the danger that Merlin's in, whenever he goes out on his motorcycle. But it's only when he attends a terrible road traffic accident that he becomes aware of the full extent of his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel in Black Leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [texasfandoodler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/texasfandoodler/gifts).



> This little one-shot is for Tex, who needs cheering up. With thanks to my co-conspirators, Merlocked18 and Neuroticnick, who prompted me with your favourite tropes: firefighter Arthur, angst and sex. 
> 
> It also fulfils the friends to lovers, hurt / comfort and presumed dead squares on my Merlin Writers Tropes Bingo card.

When Merlin applied to become his flat mate, Arthur nearly didn’t answer the door. On the CCTV, he could see a skinny guy. Biker.

“I’ve come about the flat.” The guy was leaning forward, voice muffled by his helmet.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur spoke tersely through the intercom.

“Helmet off.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Obligingly, the guy unclipped the helmet and dragged it over his head, pulling his hand through messy, sweat-dark hair.  His black leathers clung to every contour, like a second skin.

Arthur’s mouth felt dry. Bikers were bad news. Not because of the traditional bad-boy image, but because of their inevitable fate. As a firefighter, Arthur knew too much about that.

As Arthur watched, the biker pursed his plump lips, then moistened them with his tongue, as if nervous. Arthur could see the dark-pink line of his tongue between his lips.

The intercom button felt damp under Arthur’s fingertip.

“Come on up.” Despite his misgivings, he activated the buzzer.

*

Months later, Arthur sometimes thought about that moment, and first blessed whatever deities had been watching over him, then cursed them, by turns.

Merlin’s leathers drove Arthur crazy. The smooth fabric hugged the swell of Merlin’s arse, seam snug against the line separating his cheeks. Creases bunched up along his slim thighs like splayed fingers. Molding the enticing v-shape that marked the line between his thighs and his torso.

They squeaked against the leather of his motorbike seat. When he pulled them on, ready to go out through the door, they groaned, as if protesting his exit.

Arthur wanted to do the same. And that wasn’t the end of what he wanted, either. He wanted to drag those obscene, creaking trousers back down until they hobbled Merlin at the knees, and press his nose into that oh-so-tantalising crease at the top of his thighs.

Just the thought of all the filthy things that he might do next with his lips and his tongue made his mouth go dry.

“Take care on the roads,” he said, instead. “I’ve seen what can happen.” It was a normal day, although you wouldn’t know it from their attire, but, hey. Firefighters and dispatch riders had crazy shift patterns. It went with the jobs.

“I’ll be fine.” Merlin stood in the doorway, helmet under his arm, and flashed him a dazzling grin. “Nice of you to care, though.”

“I am a taxpayer, Merlin.” Arthur looked away, to avoid being blinded by that damn smile. It had crept up on him, over the months, Merlin’s smile. Wormed its way into his heart like a smile ninja. A grin assassin. And now he found himself helpless before it. “I know how much it costs to scrape mangled motorcyclists off the road.”

He didn’t mention the knot of worry, currently jammed against his rib cage, that tightened whenever Merlin rode off on a job.

“Right. And I am also both a taxpayer and a maths graduate. Which means I have a finely tuned understanding of risk. Both to motorcyclists and to adrenaline-junkie firefighter prats.”

“I am not an adrenaline junkie!”

“I notice you didn’t object to being called a prat!” When he grinned like that, Merlin’s cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk’s, pressing his eyes into mischievous crescents, and his mouth stretched impossibly wide. It wasn’t at all endearing, nor was it enchanting. Not at all.

“Are you going to go, or are you just going to stand there flinging insults at me?” Arthur struggled for a moment to convert his lopsided grin into a scowl, and then gave up.

Still smiling, Merlin turned his back and put his gauntleted hand on the door handle.

“You take care, too, Arthur.” Wrenching open the door, he walked out.

*

At least when Arthur was on shift, he didn’t have time to worry. Most of the time. But sometimes, even the short call-out description would make his heart race and his skin grow clammy.

Today was the worst kind of day.

The motorcyclist lay splayed across the road, limbs and still-helmeted head at odd angles, unmoving. A paramedic was bent over him, hand to his neck. He straightened as Arthur got out of the response vehicle, and shook his head at his colleague.

Arthur felt all his breath tugged out of him. Somehow, even the most terrible fire didn’t have the same power to squeeze his chest and crush his heart. The dead biker had long, black-clad legs and his helmet bore the same logo as Merlin’s. The bike was a BMW. Like Merlin’s.

Arthur’s feet wouldn’t move. He didn’t dare to look.

“Arthur?” Gwen had jogged over to one of the damaged cars, where another team of first responders was working to stabilise the vehicle. “We’re going to need to cut this one out.”

Ungluing his feet from the tarmac, Arthur nodded, and opened up the response vehicle to start pulling out the Jaws of Life, trying to ignore the biker, who was being zipped into a body bag in preparation for his trip to the morgue.

“Someone’s going to need to identify him.” Gwen grimaced.

“Yeah.” Arthur’s jaw clenched. “Poor bastard.”

*

“They identified the RTA victim.” Gwen stirred two lumps of sugar into the tea. “You know. The biker.”

“Oh?” Trying to hide how his heart was pounding, Arthur quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah. A graphic designer from St Neots. Cenred King. An unusual name, don’t you think?”

It was a good thing he was sitting down, because he almost staggered under the silent waves of relief that washed over him. Hating himself for it. Knowing that his solace was someone else’s tragedy.

“Poor bastard,” he said, for want of anything else to say.

“Yeah.” Gwen’s fingers curled round her cup. Sighing heavily, she took a long gulp. “Hate motorbikes.”

“Me too.” Arthur’s voice was barely a whisper.

“The leathers are sexy as hell, though.”

Abruptly, Arthur stood, the feet of the chair scraping loudly on the floor.

“Popping to the loo,” he said.

He felt quite proud that he managed to get all the way there before throwing up his tea.

*

It had been a long night. When Arthur finally got home, the birds were singing and pale light was filtering through the clouds.

Merlin was sitting in the kitchen, shoulders tense, eyes in shadow, fingers drumming on the table. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Clad in skinny jeans and an old tour t-shirt, he resembled nothing more than a teenager off to a rock festival.

He looked up at the sound of the door, and his shoulders seemed to relax minutely.

“You’re late!”  But the dazzling blaze of welcome on his face turned to concern in a heartbeat when he saw the look on Arthur’s face “Bad shift?”

Without asking, Merlin stood and put the kettle on, the line of his buttocks shifting as he reached for the teabags.

“Yeah.” Swallowing, Arthur sat down and buried his head in his hands. Clenching his hair between his fingers.

“Sorry to hear that, Arthur. Tea?”

“Coffee, please. Strong and black.”

“Ah. That bad, was it?” Merlin sat down again, eyes black in the dim light, voice soft with sympathy.

“Yeah. RTA. Biker.”  The awkward sprawl of the biker’s limbs flashed into Arthur’s mind. “We lost him.”

He should say something more. Merlin’s hand was only a couple of inches away. It would only take a second to cover it with his own, and beg. But he congratulated himself for not saying what he was thinking. _I thought it was you._

“Fuck. I’m sorry. That sucks.” Merlin’s voice was soft and sympathetic.

With a sudden move, he placed his hand on Arthur’s sleeve. Its firm warmth and the sadness in Merlin’s eyes made Arthur feel understood, for a moment. The pressure in his throat eased.

Merlin bit his lip, as if he wanted to say more, but then tutted and looked down, rummaging in his pocket, in response to a hidden signal. Glaring at his vibrating phone, Merlin tapped it a few times with an expert thumb, and grimaced at the screen.

“Fuck. Look, I’ve got to go.” he said. “I’ve got an urgent job. Organ transplant. You try to get some sleep, yeah?”

_I thought it was you. I thought you were dead. Please, please don’t go._

But despite Arthur’s silent pleading, Merlin shrugged on his motorbike jacket and walked over to the door to collect his other gear.

“See you later, Arthur. I’ll bring in a curry, yeah? Try not to brood too much. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t brood.” Rubbing at his painful chest, Arthur watched the door close behind him.

*

It should have been straightforward, this rescue. The little girl who was trapped inside the collapsed shop was uninjured, and the engineers had given them the all clear to pull her out. But Arthur knew that there was no such thing as a straightforward job, not for a firefighter. He made sure that his team were all kitted out with full armour, helmets and breathing apparatus, as a precaution, and then led them inside.

The child was shivering, but conscious, her eyes huge and round in the stark beam of his flashlight.

"It's ok, we've got you! you've been so brave." This is why Gwen was on the team. She was good at this sort of thing. In a heartbeat, the girl had her arms wrapped round Gwen's neck and her legs clinging to Gwen's waist. "Shh. It's okay! You're going to be fine!"

Lancelot and Gwen went on ahead, carrying the trembling kid out between them, while Arthur stayed for a second, flashing his torchlight into the unlit corners of the room, to check for any other survivors, or worse. You never knew, with a shop, who had been in there when it happened.

His peripheral vision was limited with the helmet on, and he only just saw the movement in time, by the light of his torch. But it was enough. Enough to shout out a warning and brace his shoulder against the shifting beam to allow the others to escape.

“Get out, quick!” He yelled, praying that they wouldn’t stop to look back. "It's coming down!"

He held it for one or two heartbeats, trying to give them time, before the weight defeated him. Grunting, he pushed at it with all his strength, but it slipped, wrenching at his shoulder before crashing to the ground with a sickening crunch. He barely had time to register Lancelot’s answering bellow before the ceiling came down on him, bringing the darkness. Afterwards, only silence.

*

“Arthur?”

Once upon a time, many years ago, Arthur had been burned badly. Everyone had. It went with the job, really. The burn had hurt, and the skin grafts on his forearm still bothered him sometimes. At least the crushing pain in his shoulder that greeted him when he woke, and his throbbing head, were nothing compared to that.

“Can’t you keep the noise down?” he tried to say. But his voice was hoarse - he supposed he must have inhaled some dust, despite the protection offered by his BA - and his head felt like it was about to splinter into a thousand pieces.

The paramedic - Mithian, was it? He recognised her, from previous jobs - laughed and told him to keep the noise down himself, but her voice was kind. Dimly registering the wailing sirens - he must be in a state if it was a blue light job - he tried to smile back.

“Am I ok?” He made as if to sit up, but the pain that shot through his head warned him to stop. “Did Gwen and Lancelot get out all right? Is the girl ok?”

“They’re all fine, Arthur. Now, don’t try to move. You won’t get far, we’ve got your neck and back immobilised. You’ve definitely banged your head, so we’ll be needing to keep an eye on you. And you might have dislocated your shoulder. Traumatic brain injuries can be deceptive. But hopefully your helmet and body armor will have done its job. We’ll know more when you come back from X-Ray. Do you have a next of kin we can notify?”

Shooting pains jarred his skull, and his shoulder throbbed a silent but insistent counterpoint.

Something, deep in his memory, was trying to tell him what all that meant, but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

All he could think of was a warm, sympathetic hand on his arm and a gentle voice.

“Merlin,” he croaked, before the blackness took him.

*

The light hurt his eyes. He blinked, but that just made it worse, so he closed them again while he did a mental body check.

His head still hurt. A lot. And his shoulder, when he thought about it. But the worst thing at the moment was the thirst. He was parched.

“Water,” he tried to say, but his voice was barely a whisper.

“Arthur! Fuck! Nurse!”

The voice sounded familiar, but it was hard to concentrate on it when his throat was so dry. He tried to lick his lips, but his tongue felt thick and strange, as if it didn’t belong to him.

Soft fingers carded through his hair. It felt nice.

“Water,” he tried to say again, willing his eyes to flicker open.

“Arthur! Thank God!” Merlin’s face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and his hair greasy, as if it hadn’t been washed for days. “Nurse!”

Arthur willed his lips to move, but all that came out was a pathetic croak.

“What?" Merlin's voice sounded panicked. "What did you say? Wait. Here.”

Something moist swiped across his painful lips, and water trickled into his mouth. Arthur swallowed gratefully. Merlin must have been telepathic.

Their eyes locked.

“You look like shit,” Arthur whispered.

“Of course I do. You fucking idiot.” Snorting, Merlin pressed the panic button above Arthur’s bed. “Nurse!” When he turned back, Arthur could see that his eyes shone bright with unshed tears. “I thought you were dead. They called me and asked me if I was your next of kin. I thought I’d be identifying the body.”

“Sorry.” Wondering why his throat felt so raw and chapped, he supposed he might have had a tube down it at some point. His voice sounded painful. He shivered at the sound. But he could feel the warmth of Merlin’s hand through his thin hospital sleeve, grounding him. “Thanks for coming.”

“I didn’t have a lot of choice.” Merlin sighed. “After all that, I had to check for myself that my you weren’t. You know.”

Arthur knew.

“It’s not like I hadn’t imagined it," Merlin added. "Every single fucking day, you go out through that bloody door, to go on shift, and I wonder if I’ll ever see… if you are coming back. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

He dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, as if to hide tears building there, but Arthur saw, and Arthur knew how it felt. Despite himself, Arthur couldn’t help the hope that sprang into his heart.

“Oh.” But he didn’t have the words or energy to say it, right then. He could feel them, though, all tangled up in that great knot behind his chest, waiting to be said. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get you home, though.” Shrugging, Merlin flashed him a wan grin. He pulled out a handkerchief, and blew his nose, noisily.  “There’s not a lot of room on the back of my bike.”

“If you think I’m getting on that thing, you’ve got to be even more of an idiot than I previously took you for.” Arthur tried to chuckle, but stopped when it turned into a painful cough. His voice was so quiet that Merlin had to bend down to hear, until his face was so close that Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath caress his cheek. “I hate it, you know. The bike. Of course I know how you feel. Of course. When I saw that kid, dead on the road...”

“Oh.” Merlin blinked. “I didn’t…” His eyes looked very blue for a moment as he stared absently at the window, his fingers threading through Arthur’s hair.

It felt so good. He leant into the sensation, and gently, his eyes fluttered closed.

God, he was so tired.

The last thing he felt before he drifted off to sleep was his uninjured hand being lifted. When soft lips pressed themselves onto it, that was it. That was the moment when he knew everything was going to be all right.

*

When he awoke again, he was alone. It was ridiculous to feel so bereft, but he rang for the nurse anyway, and complained about his pillow.

“I sent your boyfriend home, Princess.” The nurse, an irritatingly understanding bloke with a neatly-trimmed beard and a surprisingly soft Irish voice, deftly plumped up his pillow. “He looked like he was going to expire from malnutrition, so I told him to get a take-away and come back when he’d had a good night’s sleep and a shower.”

“He’s…” _not my boyfriend_. Arthur’s voice trailed off and he didn’t finish the sentence. Because he started mentally rolling the phrase “my boyfriend” around in his head, and finding that he liked it. “...an idiot,” he said fondly, instead.

“Yeah.” The nurse laughed. “I was here when he came in, though. He was proper cut up about you. He’s a keeper, that one.”

“Yeah.” Arthur grimaced at himself. The surprising thing was how deeply he felt it. “I know.”

“Gwaine?” Another nurse appeared, then, carrying a clipboard. “Nearly time for the meds round.”

“Just coming.” Gwaine winked at Arthur before striding off. “See you, Princess.”

*

In the end, it was Gwen and Lance who came to pick him up, in Gwen’s battered, pink Vauxhall Astra. He took the front seat, while Merlin and Lance crammed into the back.

“I can’t think why Arthur hasn’t introduced us before,” said Gwen. She’d been chattering to Merlin as if they were old friends - which, he supposed, after the last week or so they probably were. “We didn’t even know Arthur had a boyfriend, let alone that you’d moved in together! And then when Merlin told us he’d met you at a poetry class, I just about fell off my chair! Didn’t I, Lance?”

“Er - yeah?” Arthur nearly hyperventilated. Looking up, he caught Merlin’s eye in the mirror. Merlin shrugged helplessly, and the two of them burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” said Lance, looking from one to the other as if he was watching a tennis match.

“Your face,” deadpanned Arthur. “In this place. Is ace.”

“You see?” Merlin’s face positively sparkled. “Arthur rhymes. Lots of times. In the… slimes.”

“Climes, Merlin. Get it right.” Arthur snorted.

“Oh. For the love of God!” Gwen sighed. “You two were made for each other.”

“But I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell us you were learning poetry, Arthur?” Lance looked almost hurt.

It must have been the painkillers, or relief, or something, because he and Merlin didn’t stop laughing at Lance’s bemused expression all the way home.

*

“Make sure you make him go to bed,” said Gwen to Merlin, later, as she and Lance were taking their leave. “You know what he’s like. He’ll pretend he’s fine, but he’s not.”

“Don’t worry,” said Merlin, “I will.”

Arthur shivered at the undercurrent in those words, and hoped that he hadn’t misinterpreted it.

After they’d gone home, when Arthur was left alone with Merlin for the first time after the accident, he couldn’t ignore for a second longer the intent way that Merlin was staring at him across the table. Either Merlin planned to kill him, or something entirely more gratifying was in the offing. One way or another, things were about to come to a head.

“So.” Someone had to break the tense silence, and it might as well be Arthur. “I’m your boyfriend, am I?”

“I’m sorry.” Looking away for a moment, Merlin sighed as he chewed on his lip. “They all sort of assumed, when you’d asked for me as next of kin… and I wasn’t sure they’d let me in if I denied it so…”

Arthur’s shoulder was still immobilised, and his memory was shot to pieces, but he had the wherewithal to put his mug down before he stood up. Gently, he extracted Merlin’s coffee from his hand and placed it on the table. He tugged a puzzled-looking Merlin to his feet with an insistent hand under his elbow.

“Arthur? What are you...”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Without another thought, he leaned forward and kissed him.

Merlin’s lips felt just as soft and plush as he’d hoped, but he couldn’t have anticipated how his stomach would tighten when Merlin stepped forward and kissed him right back, openmouthed, messy and glorious. Nor how Merlin’s breathless moan would make him feel so giddy. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea,” said Arthur, all trace of laughter gone. He pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes in relief.

Merlin didn’t answer. His mouth was occupied, navigating down Arthur’s chin towards the top of his collar. The warm puffs of Merlin’s breath against his neck made him shiver.

“God,” Merlin said, his voice a murmur, tracing the words against Arthur’s skin with his lips as he deftly undid Arthur’s shirt buttons, with one hand. “I was so scared… Your skin, Arthur. You feel so… but you must tell me if I find any sore spots.”

Arthur was torn between wanting to watch, to see how Merlin’s mouth puckered and strained against him, and not wanting Merlin to see the mass of livid bruises that bloomed across the skin of his chest and belly. In the end, curiosity won. And he was rewarded when Merlin sank to his knees, and threaded his fingers through Arthur’s belt.

Arthur couldn’t help it. He moaned, softly, his good hand sliding through Merlin’s hair. It felt soft as it slipped between his digits.

When Merlin rocked back onto his ankles and freed Arthur’s straining cock from its confines, he whimpered, overwhelmed.

“Is this what you want?” Merlin’s voice was barely a whisper, and his eyes were round and dark as he tilted his head back in enquiry.

“Fuck,” said Arthur, his voice low and gravelly. “Yes! You have no idea. Anything. Anything you want. Please, Merlin.”

“I think that maybe I do!” Tilting his mouth into a grin, Merlin cocked his head to one side, his hand gliding expertly along Arthur’s length until he couldn’t remember which way was up. “Have an idea I mean.”

“Merlin, please.”

“Not sure I’ve ever heard you beg, before.” Merlin’s tongue flicked out, licking along the taut underside of his cock head until it bobbed, and Arthur whimpered. “I think I rather like it.”

“Tease.” Arthur liked it too. A lot.

And when Merlin’s mouth, so soft and inviting, plunged over him, every bit as insistent and unwavering as Merlin’s intent stare, he groaned out loud. And it seemed, from the way that Merlin spread his fingers to cup his balls, making him groan even more loudly, that Merlin liked that too. Just the thought had him widen his stance, panting.  But his trousers held him too tightly, and suddenly he wanted to feel the heat of Merlin's skin against his.

“Take me to bed,” said Arthur. He smiled. “You did promise Gwen, after all.”

“I’m not sure this is what she meant,” said Merlin, biting his lip as he looked up at Arthur through thick, sooty lashes.

“I don’t care.” With one hand, he leaned forward to tug Merlin to his feet.

It was awkward, and they couldn’t do everything that Arthur wanted to, not with his shoulder strapped and his head still prone to dizzy moments. But Merlin’s hands were so gentle, and his skin so hot as it slid, sticky with sweat and desire, against Arthur’s. It felt like a promise, and filled Arthur with a nameless hope.

And afterwards, when the breeze from the window wafted across and raised goosebumps on his naked flesh, they lay entwined with their hearts silently slowing.

“Arthur.” said Merlin. “I know you are passionate about your job, and I respect that, even though it gives me nightmares. But I’m not passionate about mine. I’ll stop, if you want. It was only ever a temporary job.”

“I’d like that.” Arthur hummed, his hand straying towards the sheet where it was covering Merlin’s skin, hiding him from view. He thought for a moment before adding, “but don’t you dare throw away the leathers.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Merlin’s whole body tensed against his when he laughed.

*THE END*


End file.
